


Surrender Tastes Sweet

by BadassCompany



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Cas' handprint, Emotional Sex, First Time Bottoming, Gay Sex, Gentle Dom Castiel, Loneliness, Loss of Control, M/M, PWP, Pining, Porn What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Profound Porn, Rimming, Sexuality Realizations, Submission, Submissive Dean, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, destiel smut, gentle dominance, surrender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassCompany/pseuds/BadassCompany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's never been much of one for surrender. But the ache in his shoulder, in the print that Cas left there - it won't go away. It's just another night in another divey motel room... Until a certain angel shows up. Dean finds out that sometimes, just sometimes, surrender tastes sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender Tastes Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> So, in the midst of having an alcohol fuelled mental breakdown, breaking up with my SO while undergoing said breakdown by screaming that I couldn't ever love them, taking exams, vaguely alienating my friends, having mild insomnia, coming to terms with my sexuality and the fact I'm submissive as f***, I wrote this! Fun times.  
> PS. I'm fine now. Enjoy and comment ;)

Dean Winchester's never been much of one for surrender. Probably because to him, everything is a do or die situation. Surrender means giving up. And he, well, he fights tooth and nail, every time, even when he doesn't want to. Surrender means adding a handful of sleeping pills to that glass of whiskey before bed. All he's got going for him is being stubborn, when it comes right down to it. It's why he doesn't like Sammy trying to get him to go all touchy-feely with crap and make him talk it out. That'd be like lowering a wall in his head and letting someone else in. Like ceding territory or something, because every day life is a war.

Nobody owns him. He followed his Dad, and he takes care of Sam. But beyond that, he's his own man. Just him and the Impala and the sweet, sweet open road.

Point is, he doesn't give up. And he doesn't give in, to himself or anybody else. It's one of those things that make him who he is.

And there's just one word ringing through his ears, only one syllable stopping him from believing it all. _Cas._

There's this tension between them. It's like electricity, binding them together. A profound bond, Cas called it once, and Dean can't help but agree. It draws them to each other, keeps Cas coming back to him through blood and scars, and it makes Dean's heart beat against his chest for what he tells himself are unfathomable reasons. Sometimes, when he's alone, the handprint on his arm aches, and he'll pray to Cas, just because for some reason that makes the aching stop.

He's never once given into it. Because he told himself he can't have it, that Cas doesn't feel things like that, that he's not into dudes anyway - although that's essentially a moot point because Cas is so much more than that - the list goes on and on.

Sometimes, though, he wants to. Wants to see how Cas' lips would taste, wants to drink in that surprised look he'd get if he finally made a move. A flap of wings sounds through the room, and he doesn't even look up.

He's staring at Cas' lips again, he knows. He does it too often. They're standing in a skeevy motel room, Sam gone on some nerd camping trip in the mountains. The aching in Dean's shoulder, that hollow feeling where Cas' fingers should curl over his skin, it was worse than it'd ever been. He'd even wondered, Fuck, is this loneliness? Then he'd shrugged and grabbed another beer. Cas had appeared out of nowhere, and was standing too close. Like he always does.

"You called," Cas says, and his voice is rough. He sounds almost troubled.

"No," Dean says shakily. He hadn't prayed. He'd told himself he needed to get over the thoughts spinning round his mind, longings and wishes and aches that demand to be kissed better.

"Yes," Cas says, and it's softer, like he's made his mind up about something. Dean watches, swallowing, scarcely daring to believe it, as Cas' hand lifts up towards his face. Two fingers trace along the side of his cheek, along the bone, and back around until Cas' hand is cupping his face. Dean can't breathe. Cas is watching him, and everything seems to slow down.

All at once, Dean closes the distance between them, and smashes their lips together, desperate, hard. Cas pulls away, leaving maybe two inches between them. Dean's chest heaves with the breath that was so reticent to come before. Jesus. He feels horrible now, like everything he wanted is exposed and he's exposed and he was wrong about what he thought Cas wanted. He almost pulls completely away and runs for the hills, but Cas hand comes around his wrist, holding him there.

"Not like that," Cas whispers hoarsely. Dean's eyes widen and then their lips touch. Gently, at first. Dean presses himself to Cas, and Cas' arms are around him, holding him almost too tight - the way you hold something you've wanted for a long, long time. Cas' lips are soft and full, and he licks into Dean's mouth. Dean is surprised at how easily he lets go, how he clings to and melts into Cas. Something is screaming away at him telling him not to, but the gentle glide of their tongues together, the heat of Cas' skin through their clothes, they calm him. They kiss deeply, and it's hot, wet, slightly messy perfection. Cas moans into him, and Dean's cock starts to harden in his pants.

Cas pulls away, just a little, and breathes, "Like that. See?"

Dean gulps. He can't say a word. They all sound wrong. Cas seems to understand, and Dean reaches for the buttons of his own shirt. Cas' hands knock them away, and the angel fumbles at Dean's buttons, licking his lips when the bare expanse of Dean's chest is revealed. With two fingers, Dean reaches out and slides the trench coat off of Cas' shoulder, watching it crumple to the floor. Cas throws Dean's shirt into some distant corner before doing away with his own. Dean lets his gaze roam over Castiel's leanly muscled torso, and Cas comes back to him, letting their bare skin touch. Dean lets out a low groan, and his jeans are much too tight. Cas pushes him back against the wall, and Dean's eyes fly wide.

Cas pins his arms back and kisses Dean again, hungrily, hotly. Dean's head spins, and he stammers, years of everything he ever thought about himself coming to the surface, "Wait."

Cas cocks his head to one side, body suddenly still. His blue eyes are oceans Dean wants to lose himself in. "Let me show you," Cas says, like it's a question he already knows the answer to. "Trust me. Dean?" He asks.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that should be funny. Cas, the nearly virgin angel, asking to show him. He doesn't think about that. For no other reason than that he trusts Cas more than he trusts himself, Dean nods sharply, and Cas surges up against him, claiming Dean's lips, his tongue, as his own. His free hand skims up Dean's chest before coming to rest on his handprint, fingers perfectly filling it. Dean gasps. All the times he'd imagined this, it'd never felt that good. Cas nudges his chin back, and Dean lets his eyelids flutter closed as Cas licks along his throat, sucking dark bruises there. Ordinarily, Dean would never let anyone claim him like that. Sure, he'd let girls give him hickeys, and he'd wear them for days afterwards, proclaiming to the street, 'hey, I got laid.' This was different. This felt like a sign of possession, and Dean couldn't bring himself to hate it. He wanted to lose himself in it, in Cas.

Cas grinds his hips against Dean, jolting him against the cold wall, and Dean groans, moving his wrists in Cas' hold. He wants to touch the angel, his angel. Cas lets him go, undoing his belt as Dean runs his fingers, his nails across Cas' flesh. Cas pulls his pants down to the ground and Dean steps out of them, the cold air practically embracing his stiff cock. Cas tears his own jeans and boxers off, pressing himself against Dean. Their teeth knock as they kiss, and Cas body is hard against his, muscle and bone and heavenly power all at once. Dean moans as Cas ruts against him, their erections sliding together. This should feel wrong, maybe, filthy at the least. But it doesn't. Sweat rolls down his neck, and it doesn't feel dirty, it feels pure in a way he's never felt. Maybe it's the fact Cas is an angel. Maybe it's that goddamn profound bond. Maybe it's just _Cas._

Cas takes him by the shoulders and steers him back to the bed, barely leaving an inch between them as they step carelessly backwards. Dean lets Cas guide him, but lets out a sharp breath when the angel shoves him back on the bed. He falls backwards, cold starched sheets meeting the bare skin of his back. Castiel watches him for a moment, just stands there and watches hungrily as Dean's chest rises and falls. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that the motel curtain is blowing like the window is open, though it's firmly shut. It flies up white and gauzy, fluttering before his eyes. _It's like a surrender flag_ , he thinks dimly.

As Cas crawls on top of him, pins him down wordlessly and kisses every one of his battle scars, he knows that's exactly what it is. So he lets the tension out of his body, lets himself melt into Cas' touches. Cas seems to feel the change, and looks up with a tender grin that's so out of place it seems fitting. Dean lets Cas flip him over on his front, and can't help but rock into the sheets. Cas' hands are so strong, so sure, that it seems all right to let go.

Just for once.

Cas' hands lift Dean's hips up into the air and he almost freezes up for a moment before he feels Cas' tongue licking between his cheeks, swirling across his puckered hole. It's hot and wet and Dean moans, moans louder than he thinks he ever has in his life. Cas growls in response, something unintelligible Dean is sure is his name. Sweet vibrations run through his insides as Cas says it, and it hardly seems important that the curtain is flying up higher than ever before, threatening to tear itself away from the window.

Cas' tongue dips inside him, circling curiously, and Dean shivers. He starts shaking with every thrust of Cas' tongue and inbetween wondering how the fuck Cas knows how to this and biting his lip to try and keep his moans in, he realizes that he is still shaking. Hasn't stopped shaking. Can't make himself. Doesn't really want to.

Cas shoves a finger inside him without a warning. Dean squeezes his eyes shut because, yes, it burns. He grits his teeth until Cas crooks it just slightly, and then a groan rips out of him. He's vaguely aware of a litany pouring from his lips, something like, "Fuck, Cas, fuck, do that again, yes," again and again. Cas thrusts his finger in and out, and it still hurts, but he rubs mercilessly against that secret spot inside of him. Sparks of pleasure fly up his spine, and he's bucking his hips back against Cas. Cas adds another finger and it's too much, too soon, because he's never done this before, not ever. He doesn't care, but Cas adds his tongue, flicking it across the exposed pink hole to soothe the pain. He scissors Dean open, and Dean doesn't care how Cas knows any of this any more.

He wants Cas, inside him, and he wants it now. The realization punches a sigh out of him, or maybe it was a brush of Cas' fingers that did the trick. Saliva drips from Cas' tongue onto him, and Dean groans. "Need you," he murmured in a broken voice.

A lightbulb shatters. Nothing ever mattered less.

Cas shoves a third finger inside Dean, and this time, the stretch feels good. His hole is getting slick, and he buries his face in the pillow to muffle the needy little phrases that pour from between his lips. Cas seems to notice, reaches out, and tilts Dean's chin up. Dean looks back at him, and the first word that escapes is, "Please."

Cas' eyes are lustblown and beautiful, and they flash imperceptibly when Dean begs him. Begged him. That's what he just did. He doesn't beg anyone. Doesn't let anyone take control of him. But the funny thing is, this is Cas, and when he begs for Cas, wants Cas to claim him, to come inside him and pin him down - it feels good.This, this right here - he loves this. "Please," he says again, just to test it out. "I need you."

Cas jerks his fingers out of Dean, at which the taller man lets out a whimper. Cas licks up his palm, coating it with spit. Dean's dick twitches as he cranes his neck to watch Cas slick his cock up. Cas' cock is rock hard and weeping precum from the head, which mixes together with his spit to make it glisten. As Cas runs a hand over himself, he closes his eyes and the tap in the bathroom starts running.

Cas spins Dean around easily, so Dean is on his back again. Cas lays a firm hand on Dean's cock to stop him from whimpering at the loss of friction. With his other hand, he lines himself up, and meets Dean's gaze. Dean lies there, legs spread-eagled, lips swollen from Cas' kisses, waiting.

Cas pushes inside him slow but steady, not stopping until he's buried to the hilt in Dean, and Dean is breathing out profanity and praise and pleas.

It hurts. Jesus, it hurts so good. Dean loses all control over his body, and he hears himself moaning, sees himself shaking, but he doesn't try to stop it. He focuses on Cas' blue eyes, so dark, and how fucking full he is. When the thought occurs to him that Cas is inside him, really, truly inside of him, he moans softly. Cas takes this as a queue, and starts to pull out and fuck into Dean.

It's evident that Dean isn't the only one losing control, because Cas pounds into him fast and hard, groaning Dean's name. Dean can't catch his breath, because every time Cas thrusts into him, rough and deep, his cock drags against Dean's prostate. Cas is kissing his neck feverishly, like he can't stop. Dean thinks he hears the bathroom mirror crack.

Dean is lost on pleasure, rocking back to meet Cas' thrusts. Cas fucks deep into him, so deep it feels like Cas is in the core of his being. Cas reaches between them and grabs Dean's throbbing cock, stroking him so hard it almost hurts. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, drawing him ever closer. No matter how rough this is, there's something gentle in it too, something in Cas' eyes and the idle circles Dean's fingers trace, trembling, on Cas' shoulders.

They're shaking and sweating and already so close. Dean can feel the edges of pleasure curling around him, and thunder rolls outside. Rain pounds on the roof. Cas' lips capture Dean's, and they kiss as best they can.

Dean catches sight of the curtain tearing itself apart, and fluttering across the room in tattered shreds. He comes between them, spattering ropes of cum across their chests as he cries out. He can feel his hole spasming around Cas' thick cock, and every thrust is too much, overpowering waves of bliss threatening to shatter him. Cas breathes, "Dean," and then his eyelids flutter shut and he grips Dean tight and loses himself. Dean feels hot cum spilling inside him, and gasps at the sensation.

When Cas has finished riding out his orgasm, his thrusts slow to a halt, and he collapses on top of Dean. He doesn't pull out, just drapes himself over the other man and presses a lazy kiss to Dean's jaw.

Dean's breath comes back slowly, and when it does, he doesn't know what to say. He watches the white curtain where it came to rest on the floor, and he smiles slightly at the thought that Cas came apart while Dean fell to pieces at his hands. Lost control so much he made a thunderstorm.

Cas whispers into his chest, so quietly Dean thinks he imagines it, "Surrender isn't always bad, my friend." Dean doesn't say anything, doesn't tell him how weird it is to call somebody 'friend' after fucking their brains out. He thinks, instead, how Cas knows him better than he knows himself. How he likes the look of the makeshift surrender flag on the carpet. How he likes Cas' hand filling the brand he left. How good the angel's weight feels on top of him.

And that sometimes, just sometimes...

Surrender tastes sweet.


End file.
